


just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it

by wibbelkind



Series: and for the first time what's past is past [begin again 'verse] [2]
Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6176275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibbelkind/pseuds/wibbelkind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She runs on three hours of sleep and it's nothing she isn't used to. Her nerves are still slightly jittery, her hand shakes slightly as she flips the pancakes and she can't think too much about what happened because it reminds her too well of panic attacks, of nights tainted with insomnia, waking up after barely sleeping and feeling like someone chewed you up and spit you back out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flowersandsunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowersandsunshine/gifts).
  * Inspired by [begin again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2486273) by [wibbelkind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wibbelkind/pseuds/wibbelkind). 



> I was asked to write a scene from "begin again" in a different POV and so I did. Based on the beginning of Chapter 13 in "begin again" where Hero makes breakfast for John & Moira after John's breakdown.

She wakes up slightly disoriented on the sofa that John has pushed into the corner of his bedroom, that she spent so many nights this winter watching movies on. It takes her a moment to put back together the events of last night, pulling the blanket she's wrapped up in closer around herself, staring at the window without really looking outside.

There's a stale taste in her mouth and she really wishes she could brush her teeth but she can't, so instead she just shuffles into the small bathroom and gargles with water a few times. Then she scrubs her faces with water and grabs a towel to dry herself off, looking at her own face in the mirror for the first time.

Her hair is in disarray and she notices dark circles forming under her eyes, as well as a few spots on her chin. She hates exam time. Carefully brushing her fingers through her hair, she assembles it into a ponytail and then turns around, back into the bedroom.

  
  


John and Moira are still asleep on the bed and she leaves them there. They've all had a long night and sleep is one of the best cures in situations like these.

Instead, Hero raids the fridge and cupboards of John's kitchen. He's not really well-stocked but what can you expect when he spends most of his dinners eating out or at Moira's place (which always has room for one more person over dinner). After a moment of consideration she grabs her purse, steals John's keys from the pocket of his jacket and steps outside.

The supermarket around the corner is peacefully quiet in the early morning hours and she picks up ingredients for pancakes, fresh fruit, yoghurt (and soy yoghurt for Mo), orange juice and a package of mint chewing gum which she opens the moment she has left the store, pushing a stick of it between her teeth.

  
  


Making pancakes comes easy to her. It's her comfort food, her favourite breakfast, especially with blueberries (which she couldn't find any of at the supermarket but strawberries will do as well). She stacks the pancakes, washes the fruit and cuts everything up, humming to herself.

She runs on three hours of sleep and it's nothing she isn't used to. Her nerves are still slightly jittery, her hand shakes slightly as she flips the pancakes and she can't think too much about what happened because it reminds her too well of panic attacks, of nights tainted with insomnia, waking up after barely sleeping and feeling like someone chewed you up and spit you back out.

Instead she thinks of every time she picked herself up after a rough night, forcing food into her weak body and pushing on instead of succumbing to apathy. Sometimes it wouldn't stay down but she's learned, learned that any fatty foods make it worse, that sometimes the only thing she can eat is fresh fruit and dry bread. Blueberries are perfect for those kind of mornings really. Eat one berry, just one. And another. And another. And before you know it you've finished the entire carton and everything is just a little better.

  
  


“Good morning.”

She nearly jumps at the sound of John's voice, the knife falling clattering on the kitchen counter. Quickly she flips the pancakes before they burn and turns around to face him.

“You're so quiet, you scared me”, she says, eyeing him carefully.

His hair is a bird's nest, pillow-patterns on his left cheek, dark circles under his eyes. It would be adorable if it weren't for the harsh reality that this is the result of a breakdown, a panic attack, the release of pent-up emotions on a Friday night. She lets a soft smile slip onto her face.

“Good morning”, she adds in return of his greeting. “How are you doing?”

“Okay, I guess. Better than last night.”

“That's good.”

He pulls out one of the kitchen chairs and sits down. She can still feel his eyes on her when she turns back to the stove, taking a fresh plate out of the cupboard above and placing three pancakes on it, topping it off with a handful of strawberries.

“I don't feel like pancakes”, he mutters when she puts down the plate and a fork in front of him.

Of course. Lack of appetite. She remembers it too well.

“Then just eat the strawberries”, she tries to encourage him, just like she used to encourage herself. “It's important that you eat.”

 _And drink_. She fills a glass with orange juice and places it next to his plate. Vitamin C is important.

She returns to the stove to finish the pancakes and when she looks back at him she notes, very pleased with herself, that he has started eating. Turning off the stove, dropping the empty bowl she mixed the pancake dough in into the sink, she takes the yoghurt out of the fridge and places it onto the table along with the bowl of mixed fruit. Apples, kiwis, mangoes, strawberries and grapes.

“Where did you find all this stuff?”, John asks.

“At the supermarket down the road”, she answers with a smile, turning around to clean up the kitchen counter a bit more before she can have breakfast.

“Thank you.”

It's two simple words that hit her right in the heart. She almost freezes for a moment before continuing to rinse off the knife under the sink. It's a good thing she has her back turned on him because she doesn't want him to see her eyes watering.

“For everything you've done-”

“It's okay, John”, she interrupts him. “You don't-”

“Yes I do.”

Hero bites her lower lip, grabbing the towel to dry off her hands, drawing a shuddering breath and grabbing a small bowl from the cupboard before turning around to face him.

  
  


He's still a bit awkward and unsure about the fact that they are friends. She notices, all the time. He watches her with a slight worry in her eyes, like he's waiting for her to turn around and leave or something. She's not sure what he's expecting, really. They have talked about everything and she's decided to put things behind. But he's still wary of her forgiveness.

She lets out a sigh and sits down across from him at the table, filling her bowl with yoghurt and fruits.

“Mo and I care about you”, she starts, her eyes flicking up at him before returning to her breakfast. “We're worried about you. So just let us look after you for a while, okay? That's what friends are for. We're not going to abandon you. And you don't have to repay us. You repay us in hours we get to spend with you and smiles we get from you and-”

“You are a hero, you know that?”

She blushes and looks up at him.

“Hence the name.”

And there's a moment, a moment where they look at each other, smiling, and she feels like the thin thread that's begun to spin between them, it's starting to strengthen, pulling them towards each other. Two souls, finally connecting after drifting around each other for so long. There's an understanding between them that this, here, them sharing breakfast after a harsh night, is important, a milestone of some sorts.

  
  


“Moira's still sleeping?”, she asks, interrupting the silence. “We could have breakfast together, I'm gonna go wake-”

John shakes his head.

“No no, let her sleep. She deserves some sleep, for what she did.”

Hero nods and returns her attention to her yoghurt. He's right. It's the first time this morning that she takes in how tired she actually is, the tension in her shoulders slipping. She stifles a yawn and takes another spoonful of fruits to her mouth.

“Where did you- did you even sleep?”, John asks.

“I crashed on the couch”, she answers, as if that explains everything.

“That must've been uncomfortable.”

It actually isn't. John has quite a comfortable couch and last night, after John had fallen asleep, exhausted from crying, she didn't have the strength to drag herself back home. Moira had wanted to stay and so she had too.

“I'm a light sleeper”, she tries to explain. “I'm not really comfortable with sharing beds.”

“That's okay, I didn't mean- did you at least get some sleep?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

And in all honesty she is. Because it feels like the worst part is over and this feels like a new chapter, turning over a new leaf. After a low point, it gets better. At least in her experience it always has.


End file.
